


don't be gone when I get home (I need you there)

by hargrievances



Series: indefatigable [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Apocalypse averted, Ben Hargreeves is Alive, Canonical Child Abuse, Coming Out, Dave is Klaus' Ghost BF, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Family Feels, Five has OCD, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Gen, Hypochondria, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lesbian Vanya Hargreeves, Let Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) Say Fuck, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, No Incest, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, On Hiatus, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Self-Hatred, Sensory Overload, Sibling Bonding, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal OCD, derealisation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hargrievances/pseuds/hargrievances
Summary: The long and short of it is, Five finds that he can’t. stop.thinking.





	1. 1 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic is..... deeply personal to me. I've struggled with pretty severe OCD + PTSD for years, hence why I relate to Five so much as a character–– some of his in-canon behaviors really did hit close to home. I wanted to write something exploring that in a character study kind of way, but also lbr, there's nothing more self-soothing than projecting your issues onto characters you love.
> 
> The title,,,,, is from the song [Ten Minutes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lgc6DCvfdTw) by The Get-Up Kids, aka the theme song to the Quack educational videos from my high school French classes. If anyone knows what I’m talking about please sound off in the comments,,,, I’m begging you. The Quack videos are not good videos, but,,, it's a good song, I swear.
> 
> Each chapter will focus on Five's struggles with a different obsession, and there will be some good amounts of fluff mixed in with heavy angst.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _{wish I could change my mind,_   
>  _but it's the things I shouldn't see that always catch my eye}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is focused on Five having major PTSD-fueled anxiety over the possibilities of there being another apocalypse. He develops several compulsions, including checking and re-checking, magical thinking, and counting. There are flashbacks to his time in the Apocalypse, and some references to the horrible conditions in which he'd lived, followed by panic attacks. Also one very brief instance of suicidal ideation that is part of a thought process and not acted on.

Five is bored. 

Well, not _bored_ as such. 

Bored was what happened when he was a kid, listening to Reginald lecture them about conjugating Latin verbs. Bored was an almost-pleasant sort of annoyance that led to Diego throwing perfectly-aimed paper airplanes at the back of Luther’s head, to Allison rumoring Klaus into dancing the macarena for the press at a publicity event.

Boredom can, and often does, lead to spontaneous creativity.

What Five feels right away, after they go back in time to kill Reginald, train Vanya properly, save Ben’s life, then come back to 2019 (where Five is _still thirteen_ much to his dismay) is relief. His siblings all pull him into a huge cuddle pile, and he doesn’t fight them, doesn’t jump away, in fact, he pulls them closer. The relief is so overwhelming, he feels his limbs go loose, feels his heart soar. The air is shimmering with possibility. Every day he wakes up under clear (not ash-filled) skies, when he walks outside, he’s full of unadulterated joy at the sight of everything that’s green and growing around him.

But the relief wears off. Five will be sitting at the dining table, eating Grace’s delicious French toast, when something– who knows what– sets him off, makes it so all he can see are memories.

He’ll clench his fork in his hand like a weapon, his siblings will call out to him, softly and then louder, but they can’t really be speaking, not when they’re dead in the rubble. Everything’s on fire, he can feel his lungs going black, his insides coated in filth. He’ll breathe too hard, too quick, feel the phantom pain of most of his teeth rotting in his bone-dry mouth. His head pounds, his bones jut out from under his skin, he’s hungry, he’s always _starving_ , famished, tired. He wants to sleep, he wants to die, wants to wake up in his own room and not be so painfully alone anymore. 

He’d take his father’s cruel words and disciplinary techniques over _this_ , he’s so stupid and selfish and hopeless––

He’s staring down at the table’s wood, he knows it’s there, he knows where he is, but he doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t– he can’t–

“– you _mean_ he’s done this before?”

“Well. Uh… I tried to get him to talk about it. He wouldn’t, so I just assumed– and I didn’t even know for sure what was happening, but now–”

“Hey, Five? You gonna come back to us, buddy?” That’s a lilting, articulate, gentle voice, that’s Klaus. 

Five eventually catches his breath, lets himself lean into Klaus’ side. His eyes are staring straight ahead, but his brain’s going a million miles a second.

It’s like this more often than he would like to admit. And when it’s not like this, Five is not bored, but he _is_ stuck. Grateful to be alive, no longer a sole survivor wandering a wasteland, no longer a puppet for a creepy secret organization. But he’d grown used to the running. He was always running so fast in pure survival mode that now, trying to stand still and collect himself in the aftermath of everything is proving to be even more of a challenge.

One month after the non-apocalypse, Allison insists on taking Five shopping for new clothes that aren’t his school uniform and various hand-me-downs from Vanya. They don’t understand why he hasn’t made a bigger fuss about getting any, and with that, Five knows, is their underlying concern for the fact that he hasn’t really done much since they got back.

He comes down to eat his three meals a day, jumps down for snacks whenever he so chooses. He spends the rest of his time behind the closed door of his room, and that’s what they see. They don’t see what he does in there. They don’t know that he’s actually been busier than they could even comprehend. ~~They don’t know anything.~~

It’s been a month since the day of Vanya’s concert. No, it’s been a lot longer than that. But okay, time travel jet lag aside, it has officially been a month, to the rest of the world. Five starts every day with reading the newspaper front to back, checking the date to make sure he’s sure it’s not April 1 again. He checks it seven times, once for him and each of his siblings.

Numbers don’t lie to him like people do, and his equations are a foolproof thing. He knows them all like the back of his hand, and that’s a good thing, because he can’t risk another apocalypse happening. They trained Vanya, she’s got her powers well-managed with all their borrowed time, Vanya wouldn’t cause it, but what if someone else does? 

The Commission can’t be happy with him, surely they’re just around every corner, watching him from plain sight. It’s only a matter of time before they stage another way to destroy the world, so Five has to keep on his toes, has to calculate probabilities under his breath, keep an eye out for clues, for signs. Any little detail could be the key to protecting them all, _nothing_ can be disregarded.

Allison has brought Five and Klaus to one of her fancy movie star-budget stores, probably in an effort to cheer Five up from whatever she imagines he needs cheering up from.

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite sister?” Klaus asks rhetorically, arm linked through Allison’s, eyes all aglow at the vast array of silken fabrics and fitted jackets.

Allison smiles. “Only when you want something from me,” she teases, but she’s going to buy him anything he wants from there and all three of them know it.

The store takes up nine stories and an entire city block, and Five would be lying if he said it isn’t tiring to trail after his siblings across every single floor for a whole afternoon. He’s never been one for shopping sprees like they are.

Klaus, predictably, has zero complaints and finds an armful of clothes he suddenly can’t live without, a red velvet skirt being his greatest prize. Allison buys some well-deserved things for herself, and for Claire, who she’ll be able to see in just two months.

Five spares them his attention for the short amount of time it takes to select some nice jeans, button-up shirts, and what must be the softest bunch of t-shirts ever. He’d never worn a t-shirt _at all_ before today, and he’s been severely missing out.

Allison presses her lips together, tilts her head to the side. “Are you sure that’s all you want? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you found some things you like so fast. But don’t you…? I don’t know…”

“Don’t you wanna have a little fun, Five?” Klaus crouches down so that he’s closer to Five’s height, which– _rude._ “How about those blazers? Or some bowties? You’d look like the cutest old man-turned-kid.”

Five huffs out an irritated blast of air. “I don’t– _I don’t know_. Stop babying me.”

He’s been calculating the probability of Ben causing the apocalypse, now that Ben’s alive. His powers are the most unpredictable, after Vanya’s. Someone could do something to cause him to lose control of the portal to the demon otherworld in his stomach, and they could spill out into––

“Ohhh. I understand,” Klaus says, in an all-too eager voice that makes Five want to slug him. “You’ve never had a chance to discover your style, huh?”

Allison’s eyes widen in realization. “That makes sense. It’s really sad, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Any country could incite a nuclear war and blow up the whole planet at any moment. Surely the Commission could stoke some fiery old debates into rage that will drive the right people over the edge.

Five wouldn’t be able to survive _that._

Seven times counting down from ten ought to hold them off.

Ten, nine, eight, seven–

Would it be better if he counted down from seven? Ten isn’t a significant number other than the fact that it’s a multiple of Five’s own.

Seven counts down from five? Five counts down from seven?

If Five dies with his family this time, it won’t matter what he’s wearing.

He doesn’t have time for this, he needs to be at home, he needs something to write with.

He wants to cry but he can’t can’t can’t. His head hurts like he hasn’t had enough water. Not as bad as in the apocalypse, nothing was ever as bad as that, but–

He shakes his head out like an etch-a-sketch. “Klaus is right. Shocking, isn’t it? I really don’t know my own style.”

“Do you want some help?” Klaus offers, biting his lip in anticipation of a yes.

Allison does little jazz hands by her sides, and it’s good to see her easing back into her loveable old happiness. “Who better to help you than your most stylish siblings?”

Five loves them so much and he can’t survive without them again, so he needs to be _ready_ at all times, just in case. He needs to get home. ~~He wants to find his style~~. “Sure,” he says, and Allison grabs his hands and pulls him forward, laughing with complete and utter joy.

Five allows himself a tiny smile, allows himself to admit to Klaus that in truth, he’s always liked Klaus’ style the most out of anyone’s. He can spare this time, he’s a ~~man~~ boy who’s built himself out of nothing but the fabric of time. 

After some trial-and-error, they figure out that he likes his ‘lewk’ (no, Klaus, Five is never saying that word out loud) to be simple, comfortable and elegant. Essentially, he wants his clothes to feel completely different to the stiff uniforms of the Academy and the Commission, the exact opposite of the scavenged pieces he’d donned in the apocalypse. When Klaus hands him a white skirt with pale blue stripes to try on, Five can’t hide the actual wide grin that washes over his face like sunlight.

He adds the skirt, along with a few other fun pieces, to the pile of basics he’d already planned on buying, and it’s almost enough to make him forget about–

‘THE END OF THE LINE’

A sign reads above the sale section. That means something, that has to mean everything. He peers around to see if they’re being followed. They must know he’s here.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Five, four, three, two–

“You okay, Five? Fievel Goes West? Fifth Harmony? You look like you’re spacing out.”

Five’s going to have to start over. “Yeah, Klaus. I’m just tired. Hanging out with you is exhausting.”

Klaus ruffles his hair and takes the jab as a compliment.

Allison has to make a visible effort to not make a big deal about it, but she’s proud of Five for stepping out of his shell today.

Five swears to himself, not to any kind of god, that he won’t let his guard down. He'll protect his stupid ~~lovely~~ family forever, even if it's the biggest pain in the ass imaginable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does Klaus make so many pop culture references in every fic I write
> 
> stay tuned for a family vacation with continued angst in the next chapter, y'all


	2. 2 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _{why aren’t you scared of me?_   
>  _why do you care for me?}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALLLLRIGHT YA GIRL IS B A C K and she's gonna try to finish this fic before the semester starts again at the end of this month!
> 
> So this chapter's kinda bleak, as it deals with harm ocd, which is something I haven't experienced too much of personally, but have definitely experienced for a brief amount of time. TW for a panic attack, super persistent intrusive thoughts about hurting people and animals (none of which Five acts on or wants to act on, but you know how ocd be), and compulsions (mainly counting and attempts at avoidance). There's also generally a lot of repetitive thinking, because when my ocd acts up, that's just what my brain does.

The thing about growing up a child soldier and then being shaped into a human weapon by an unfeeling secret society is that it all makes you too familiar with the feel of another human dying by your hands. It’s made Five’s reflexes too sharp, his hands too eager to squeeze into fists, his face often set in an vacant-looking, yet constantly-in-observation stare during a lot of his waking hours.

It’s too easy to kill people. Humans are honest to god so weak and breakable, even superhumans like the Hargreeves.

Every now and then, Five gets these moments where he’s doing something mundane––

Allison recruits him to go shopping for furniture and groceries and various boring nonsense more often than anyone else. She claims it’s because his smarts are helpful and she’d rather take anyone than Diego, but Five is sure it’s because she wants to get him out of the house as much as possible. He doesn’t make much of an effort to get out on his own, namely because he has no idea what he wants to do now that he has a choice.

He’ll be impatiently pushing the cart back and forth a few inches as his sister takes her time picking snacks out. Back and forth, back and forth, when he realizes he could run the cart into the man and child that are standing in front of him. It’s possible that Five could push them so hard that the man would crush his skull on the hard concrete floor of this Costco. He could strangle the child (the man's son, the man's nephew, _whatever_ ), no one would be able to stop him fast enough.

Five shudders, makes himself read the packaging of every bottle of shampoo in front of him, even if he’s not processing any of the words whatsoever.

Diego invites him to come to the boxing gym once or twice a week to practice his fighting. Five can’t always jump away from dangerous situations, so Diego says it’s best if he also brushes up on his actual fighting techniques. It’s actually really nice, to get a workout that isn’t barked at him by a drill sergeant of a father, to be able to stop and rest when he wants and not be pushed past his breaking point and then some.

He’s able to avoid thinking about murder for most of their training session, and he’s pleased with himself. But then, when they’re walking out, Five thinks about pushing his brother in front of a car.

Five swears to himself that he would never do that, he doesn’t want to do that. He loves Diego.

~~Unless Five doesn’t love him enough, unless Five is _dangerous._~~

Seven counts down from five, but Five still feels like a monster when he’s done.

It bothers him for the rest of the day all through the morning after. He’s making a point not to look at Klaus at breakfast. He could use a kitchen knife to slit Klaus’ throat. He _could_. He doesn’t want to, but doesn’t thinking about all this stuff as often as he does mean he secretly wants to? It does, it does, it definitely must mean–

Five drums his fingers on the table so as not to get lost in the counting, but the thought of hurting Klaus pops into his head like a jack in the box being wound up again and again and again. Five is sure the spring is going to snap one day and send the thoughts tumbling out into the real world, and he’s going to––

“Hey, Five?” Klaus is looking at him with those big, empathetic eyes, and it suddenly hurts a whole lot more, deep in Five’s chest. “Is all that caffeine getting to your head?”

Five levees a half-assed defensive glare across the table. “What are you talking about?”

Klaus purses his lips self-importantly. “You’re twitching like a– well, like I used to.”

Five clenches his hands into fists. “It’s just excess energy. And caffeine isn’t the worst thing to be addicted to, you know.” It’s kind of mean, but it makes Klaus stop pressing. Klaus doesn’t stop _talking_ , however.

“Maybe you could like, get a pet. An emotional support dog. Or cat! I mean, you’re basically a cat,” he says, grinning.

“I don’t want a pet,” Five dismisses. “And aren’t you allergic to cats?”

Klaus flaps his hands down, as if he’s pushing away the mere notion that this might be a problem. “It’d be worth it. Seriously, liebling. Pets are supposed to be good for… anxiety. PTSD. The works. We all used to beg dad for one as a kid, remember? Even you.”

Five is a damn loose canon. The apocalypse and the Commission and the Academy ruined him, he’s too far gone to be trusted with caring for anything. He’d lose control someday and kill the poor thing, he knows it. He doesn’t want it to be true. He doesn’t want to hurt anything or anyone. But what if that’s all he knows now? “Well, I don’t want one anymore. People change.”

Klaus makes a big show of running his hands through his own hair, tugging a little, and letting them drop to his lap. 

Five could kill him.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Five, four, three, two, one.

He’s going to snap. _What’s stopping him?_ What if he lets his guard down and That Thing that’s stopping him, whatever it is, whatever ounce of good is left in him after everything that still holds him back fails him? He can imagine getting Klaus’ blood all over his hands and not feeling anything–– no emotion, no loss, no sadness. Just, blood all over his hands. A feeling he's all too acquainted with.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Five, four, three, two, one.

“Oh, no. No, no, Five…” Klaus murmurs sweetly. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Five’s been thinking about. If he knew what a monster Five was, he wouldn't be nearly so kind.

Five moves his hands up to jump. He needs to get away until he gets himself under control, for Klaus’ own safety.

“Five, please. Can you stop and breathe here with me?”

“You don’t _understand_ , Klaus,” Five spits out, embarrassingly close to crying. 

“I probably understand more than you think. Right, time travel trauma buddy?”

Unfortunately, Five laughs. It’s a sad, sobbing laugh, but the sentiment is clear. Klaus waits for him to re-figure out how to get a normal amount of air in his lungs and stop almost-hyperventilating. Two more counts down from five, and that’s the ritual complete. He won’t hurt anyone, he’s sure. (But is he?)

“I’m really not kidding when I say I understand a little,” Klaus says. “I’ve been riding out panic attacks since before I can remember. The more you have of them, that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make it feel any less like the world is ending– shit, that was poor word choice. What I'm trying to say is– time doesn’t make them any easier.”

Klaus stands up with purpose in his movements. “Now. If you’d like, I’ll put on a record and we can dance all our troubles away.”

Five scoffs, crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What, are you scared? You don’t wanna get shown up by your older sibling's groovy moves? Younger sibling– whatever you consider me?”

"Younger," Five insists.

“Then that’s worse. Luther said you think you’re better than us. But maybe not at everything...?”

A smile breaks out across Five’s face the likes of which hasn’t naturally occurred in years. “Be ready to eat those words, Klaus.” His head might be hurting something fierce, and this whole thing is obviously a transparent ploy to try to cheer Five up, but his dancing will _not_ be worse than Klaus’, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so last chapter note was a lie, NEXT chapter is the family vacation + angst
> 
> I promise this fic won't be all Klaus and Five moments, but man oh man do I love Klaus and Five. They're one of my fave sibling dynamics I've ever seen on screen in my life, so forgive me these indulgences.
> 
> Also, I haven't really stated what the hell their living arrangements are in this story, post not-apocalypse, but assume it's the same as my other fic, oh mr. sandman, please don't come around (Klaus, Five, Allison and Alive Ben living in the Hargreeves mansion, Luther, Diego and Vanya living on their own.)


	3. 3 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _{a thousand promises that never seemed to help me before,_   
>  _a hundred less and I would stumble till I found the back door}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all, so this chapter is kind of a mashup of the topics of the past two chapters, plus a bit of hypochondria (fear of being sick)/emetophobia (fear of throwing up).
> 
> TW for someone getting carsick and it really making Five wig out, compulsions (counting, checking, touching a thing), sensory overload, canon-typical alcoholic tendencies, a little bit of harm ocd, and a touch of scrupulosity (moral ocd): worry over potentially being a sociopath is what happens, but it's very brief, and tbh, not terribly educated.
> 
> The carsick scene is not super graphic, but please be cautious/skip this chapter or everything after "They start making their way through the mountains..." if it may trigger you.

Five doesn’t miss the apocalypse. Of course he doesn’t, it would be stupid to miss the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He wonders, however, if there exists a word to describe missing something that was entirely terrible, for no reason other than the simplicity and familiarity going back to it would afford.

His siblings bustle around him, debating on which last-minute additions to shove into suitcases, hurrying each other, because they were supposed to leave two hours ago, and now they might not get there in time for the nice dinner they’d planned at the boathouse restaurant, and whose fault is that? Not Five’s.

Five has been ready since six am, when he’d woken up too early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so he’d made himself pack before anyone else was up–– after checking the paper seven times, after calculating how high the chances of the world ending could rise while they go on this stupid vacation, after touching his bedroom light switch twelve times (seven plus five times), to make sure he’ll keep on protecting his siblings and won’t hurt them, won’t hurt anyone else, he won’t, _he doesn’t want to–_

Five would much rather stay home while they enjoy themselves. As it stands now, he’ll have to carry on his headache-inducing act of appearing completely fine and well-adjusted while his brain screams at him. He’ll take a few seconds longer than any normal person to laugh at their jokes or (pretend to) join in on their fun. 

He’ll stick out like a sore thumb and he knows it.

So, Five doesn’t miss the apocalypse and he would never say that he does, as he’d never want to risk willing it back into existence, _but_ – he does wish he could be alone, for just the slightest amount of time. He wishes he could spend a holiday with Delores instead. Delores would never judge him for his… general struggle with day-to-day life. Christ, he misses her warm smile, he misses sitting under the bright, bright stars with her in the decades after the smoke cleared out… 

Klaus is good-naturedly pushing Allison out the door. The two of them were the ones that insisted the most on this trip. They’re evidently dead set on becoming their sibling’s life coaches now, in the aftermath of everything.

The whole group mutually votes that Luther should drive, because Diego’s road rage is quite frankly, astounding and terrifying. Diego has managed to snag shotgun, where he can easily gripe at Number One for this and that, as well as choose the music.

Five remembers too late that he’s never been able to read in a moving car (it never fails to make him dizzy), so he’s stuck wedged between Klaus and Ben, lightheaded and miserable, a tragically unreadable book clutched in his arms.

Klaus occasionally gets really into a song he knows, singing and jerking his leg up and down. He and Ben have taken this opportunity to buy entirely too many gas station sweets, and Five’s still only just starting to accept sugar back into his life, so it’s not like he can enjoy much more than a handful of peanut m&m’s. Allison and Vanya are talking amongst themselves in the back row of seats, and Five half wishes he’d sat with them.

Ben, to his credit, could never be as annoying as Klaus, not even if he actively tried. But he’s still talking to Klaus over Five’s head, he’s still trying to get Five to talk to him, and now Diego’s started to quietly sing along to the radio, as if Klaus’ occasional musical outbursts weren’t bad enough.

Everything around Five feels like too much for his senses to take in. The woods they pass by are too green, the car’s moving too fast, his siblings are talking too loud, and he can’t stand it anymore.

“Can everyone shut up?”

It comes out louder than he’d meant to. He hadn’t meant to say it at all. ~~He’s losing control, and he doesn’t like to think about where this will lead.~~

The radio is turned off, all eyes are on Five.

He fumbles to catch his breath, to make something up that explains his (irrational? irritable?) behavior but won’t necessarily worry them. “You’re all so damn loud. It drives me crazy. I was _alone_ in the apocalypse. I can’t–” this is more honest than he’d intended, but not honest enough to cause much concern. “I can’t process all of this–” he gestures vaguely at his surroundings. “–all of the time.”

“Shit,” Ben mutters, just above a whisper.

“Sorry, Five,” Allison says. “Jeez. Well, it’s good that you spoke up.”

“We can uh… chill out and watch the scenery go by, if you’d like,” Klaus offers. “Quietly.”

“Okay,” Five says, feeling, quite frankly, very stupid and childish and needy. But his siblings make an effort to bring down the volume, and it helps, if only in the sense that there’s now less outside noise competing with the noise that’s always present in his head. _(It’s possible that he’s a sociopath. It’s possible that he doesn’t have feelings anymore, that he’s been faking any semblance of care he has for his family. It's all so possible that he could be a bad person, who's just biding his time around these all these very good people.)_

They start making their way through the mountains, and it really is beautiful, this world that they’ve saved.

Five sighs and gives into the urge to rest his head on Klaus’ shoulder and pretend that he’s capable of sleeping in cars. Before he can really close his eyes, he notices that Ben’s gone pale and is tensed up, hand lightly clutching his stomach at the sensation of just how steep and windy the roads have become. 

Oh, _fuck_ , that’s right–

Ben whimpers a plea to Luther– “Can you pull over?” but Luther is too late in his attempt to stop the car at the side of the road. Ben retches and makes a goddamn mess on the car floor, and suddenly, Five feels like he can’t breathe.

Ben heaves a few more times, gets it all out of his system.

“Can’t believe we forgot you get carsick,” Klaus says, rubbing circles into his back. "You didn't as a ghost."

“How did we forget that?” Allison asks everyone, including herself, as she digs through the backseat for a towel.

“Hasn’t come up in a hot minute,” Ben rasps. He clears his throat, accepts the blue gatorade that Klaus hands him and takes the tiniest of sips.

It’s all rather touching, if you can acknowledge what caused all the coddling. Five can’t. He shudders, holding his head in his hands, counting down from five ~~seven~~ ~~ten~~ twenty times in a row. It works, kind of, not really. His breathing is still ragged panting, and it gets even worse when he looks down and sees that his shoes have gotten caught in the crossfire.

They’re not unsalvageable, they’re not even that much of a mess.

Five jumps outside, not bothering to answer when Diego calls after him. Five just. Paces. He paces outside the car while his siblings clean up and help Ben get a hold of himself.

Diego comes up behind him, and Five really notices for the first time that his brother isn’t wearing his tactical vigilante gear. Just a t-shirt and board shorts and sunglasses. He looks like a dork.

“You look like a dork,” Five tells him. “Less so than usual, but still.”

“Why would you say that?” Diego asks, but he smiles and laughs on the tail end of his words. When Five doesn’t say anything more, Diego softens, seeming to remember his reason for standing there. “Are you good?”

Five shakes his head. “I don’t want to get sick.”

“You can’t catch carsickness.”

The car horn sounds, and they look to see Luther pressing the button, hurrying them along. Five sits in the back with Allison and Vanya this time. He takes off his shoes and socks, and there’s no visible damage, but that doesn’t make anything better at all.

By the time they get to the lakeshore, Ben is feeling completely fine– he’s better enough to join them in their dinner (that they’re only a little bit late for). Five mostly pushes the food around on his plate, because what if something in the food is bad and gives him food poisoning, what if the meat is bad, what if the salad has contaminated lettuce, what if Ben really is sick and it really is contagious?

He eats enough so he won’t go hungry (he knows exactly how much that is from experience), but he’s still. so. nervous. He can remember what it felt like to have food rush back up his throat, he can remember how out of control he was when he ate that bad twinkie and that spoiled meat. He remembers being sick and worrying he wouldn’t wake up.

Klaus gets the bright idea to go out to the beach at sunset.

Luther hoists Five up on his shoulders and charges out to the waves, and okay, the water’s really refreshing in the east coast summer heat. Allison makes them all take pictures together with a disposable camera, and Five makes himself smile, but he knows that when they get the photos developed, he’ll look ~~panicked~~ ~~afraid~~ _haunted_ behind the eyes.

Diego gets more mosquito bites than anyone should ever endure, Klaus makes fun of him until he gets a cluster of bites on his ankles that make him see the light and mend his ways.

Ben and Vanya find out that the hotel has an arcade and they kick ass at the racing games.

Five would be having fun if he could. The closest he comes is sneaking into the hotel bar and having a drink, because when he's drunk, he's not afraid of anything–– not getting sick, not dying, not the end of the world. Five doesn't get horribly drunk, but he gets to a point where his siblings notice what he's done when he comes back to the hotel suite, and the sad concern in their eyes kind of makes him feel even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most transparently project-y thing I've written for this fic so far and it's weird to write now, bc my emetophobia isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, and it's hard to capture the thoughts and feelings of a fear that doesn't take up much of my brain anymore but idk. I do think it's something Five could maybe develop, since he does bring up the Cursed Bad Twinkie more than once in canon. It's like, getting sick in the apocalypse REALLY meant maybe dying from dehydration so? It fully makes sense as a phobia he'd have.
> 
> SHIT I STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE DAVE.
> 
> Next chapter will be even more projecting, and like,,, really dark and sad ngl.


	4. 4 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _{I feel numb most of the time,_   
>  _lower I get the higher I climb}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is,,, a doozy.
> 
> BIG HUGE TW for suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation, compulsions (counting), some scrupulosity (moral ocd) and harm ocd, lots of rumination, lots of derealisation (doubting reality), brief mention of Reginald being canon-typical shitty, a minor accidental injury, and very negative self-talk.
> 
> Also, Five blames himself for his own mental illness at one point, and I'd like to clarify rnow that it's not at all his fault that he has ocd and that his ocd did not come from time travel.
> 
> If reading about suicidal thoughts may trigger you, please read with caution or skip this chapter.

Vanya invites Five to live with her at the end of July. It’s really a no-brainer to take her up on the offer. They _had_ been each other’s best friends and closest confidantes as children, and even now, no other sibling so instinctively understands whether Five needs quiet or distraction at any given time the way that she does.

Luther helps them move some furniture for Five into the spare bedroom of Vanya’s new place. Five brings his boxes of books and notebooks along with his suitcase that holds all the clothes and other necessities he owns and goddamn, does he realize just how little he actually has to his name. (Well, the dehumanizing number that he stole from Reginald to create his own name. Same difference.)

It’s easier to live with just Vanya in a lot of ways. Much calmer, that’s for sure. They go out for coffee together often, he reads while she practices her violin, he goes to her concerts. Neither of them ever really learned to share emotions properly, so there are things they do instead.

Sometimes, Vanya looks like she’s been crying. Five silently sits next to her until she decides to wrap her arms around him or reach out a hand for him to hold.

Five locks himself in the bathroom a lot, so he can count the tiles until he stops imagining putting a bullet through Vanya’s head while she sleeps.

Five suggests that Vanya goes back to see her old therapist, or maybe (probably definitely) a new one. Vanya takes a good hard look at the way Five can’t ever seem to hold her gaze or sit still, and she suggests that he does the same.

“Look, you’re,” she begins. “I know you’re 58, technically. But you’re also 13. You’re a kid again. You get a second chance. And with everything you’ve been through, I just think it would help you… figure out what you want, to talk to someone that can help you heal.”

Five’s jaw clenches involuntarily. But if he thinks about it, he’s not sure his jaw has ever been relaxed once in his entire life.

“There’s so much we never got to do,” Vanya muses wistfully. “But now you’ve got all this time to discover what actually makes you happy.”

A voice– 

No, not just any voice. His own voice, from months (years?) ago slams its way into his head: _I’m not looking for happy_. He’d meant what he’d told the Handler. He doesn’t care whether or not he’s happy as long as his family is safe. He’s self-obsessed but he’s not selfish. He has no idea what he wants, he can’t imagine being happy. He can’t imagine healing.

Maybe he’s not supposed to heal. 

Maybe in this timeline, he wasn’t meant to stick around after saving everyone.

The implications of that train of thought make his stomach turn, and the sudden rush of nausea makes his brain short-circuit with panic. He wrings his hands out like he’s trying to shake water off of them.

Vanya’s eyebrows knit up. She gets this wrinkle between her eyebrows when she’s upset and she didn’t used to when they were kids. Vanya’s so much older now and so is Five.

He doesn’t want to die. That would be selfish of him. Self-obsessed but _not selfish_. He’s survived for too long to let himself think this way. He doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to think like that.

Vanya’s frowning. Oh fuck, Five’s made her upset. What if she loses control again? What if her eyes go moonlight white and she hurts him again? He’s been slacking on his probability equations, and maybe Vanya’s odds of causing the apocalypse are getting higher.

He could snap her neck and not have to worry about this.

He could also jump out the window.

Five doesn’t want to kill Vanya, and he very much doesn’t want to die. But then again, maybe he does. He’s never sure about anything these days.

Five, four, three, two, one. Fivefourthreetwoone.

“So, what do you think?” Vanya asks.

“About what?” Five genuinely can’t remember what the question had been.

“Therapy, Five. I… think it would help you.”

Five really severely fucking doubts that. He just has a lot of trouble believing there’s a therapist alive that could understand his situation or help him process all the things he’s been through.

It’s his torch to burn, he guesses. He probably deserves this, for time traveling when he wasn’t ready, for being _foolish, weak, difficult_ – any of the wonderful words his father used to call him so constantly. His mind’s messed up beyond repair, and it’s his own damn fault, so now there's nothing to do but make the best of it.

Vanya’s noticed that he likes sitting at the counter when that’s an available option at the coffee shops and diners they go to. She gravitates over there on instinct now, and somewhere amid all the constantly churning abysmal thoughts, Five finds it endearing.

Vanya smiles at the girl behind the counter. That’s– hm. Vanya usually doesn’t smile at people that aren’t Five, Klaus or Allison.

The barista puts pretty swirls in the foam of Vanya’s coffee, and Vanya compliments it, cheeks flushed pink.

The last time Vanya liked someone, he turned out to be the fuse that set her off and ended the world. If this girl– Rosie, her nametag reads– is anything like Harold–

Alternately, if she’s nothing like Harold, Vanya could find a genuinely supportive and loving partner, and that would _reduce_ the chances of…

He steals a pen that had been abandoned on the nearest coffeetable and writes on every available napkin around him. Maybe Vanya doesn’t like Rosie. Maybe Vanya isn't always the one to cause the apocalypse. He chews on the end of the pen, calculating.

The only variable in the equation that Five’s never truly considered from all angles is… himself. Every person’s existence has consequences, after all, even his. Perhaps especially his.

Maybe _he’s_ the harbinger of doom. 

Five said it himself. He’s the four frickin Horsemen. He’s a murderer. He can still feel the recoil of his guns as he takes lives, he can still see the blood on his hands, seeping through his skin, staining his soul the filthiest crimson.

He’s a horrible person and the world would probably be better off without him. He thinks he’s going to be sick and he doesn’t want to be sick. He doesn't want to die, he loves living, but maybe he doesn't deserve that pleasure. He keeps scribbling even though his writings stopped making sense forever ago.

He just needs to think harder, he needs to be smarter.

“Uh– Five? What are you doing?”

Vanya’s looking over his shoulder and Five crumples the napkins in his hand, defensively holding them close to his body.

Five genuinely has no idea where he’d even begin to explain. If he could manage an abridged version, his sister would undoubtedly tell him he’s wrong, he’s loved, he’s oh-so-special, but what if that’s a lie? His head is pounding as if there’s a jackhammer inside it, and he can almost feel his nerves physically rattling.

“It’s an experiment,” he tells Vanya, so as not to worry her.

Her face looks _off_ somehow, like she’s an actor in a play and not the real Vanya Hargreeves. The lights in the cafe are too yellow, they’re yellower than usual. It’s possible that everything Five’s ever believed is actually wrong.

Vanya is skeptical. “What kind of experiment?”

Five wonders if his wrists have always had the bones poking out like that. His heart beat beat beats and he wonders if it’s real.

He can’t count on his hands the number of times he’d almost died as a kid, on Reginald’s stupid missions, or in the wreckage of the world, in the worst conditions imaginable. How is he certain– really certain– that he’s alive now? The coffee shop, the city, his sister’s hair still damp from the summer rain– all of this could be a hallucination, a simulation. 

Everything is fuzzy and heavy and far away, all at once.

“It’s complicated, you probably–” he trails off, and he can’t for the life of him continue his sentence. There’s too much to consider, always too many unknowns. 

FIVE, five, four, three, two, one. Get it under control, _Five_ , stop thinking about it.

He’s not prepared for Vanya to be so persistent in her concern that she makes a grab for the napkins. Five jerks them away from her, and his arm knocks his cup of coffee off the table. It seems to happen in slow motion, the way his knee is suddenly burning hot and covered in coffee, and the way the cup shatters into several pieces on the ground in front of him.

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” Rosie the coffee foam girl rushes over with clean, unwritten-on napkins, and hands a bunch to Five and Vanya. “ _Je_ -sus, you’re a little scraped up,” Rosie says.

Some of the pieces must’ve nicked his leg a little in the fall. Vanya presses napkins into his leg hard to stop the bleeding (she couldn’t grow up a Hargreeves and not learn mandatory first aid) and Five swallows hard to try and rid himself of the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t see any pieces stuck in the cut but we’re gonna have to go home to mom just to make sure,” Vanya tells him.

“There’s a hospital like two blocks down,” Rosie says.

“Our mom’s a nurse,” Vanya explains. “Or. Something like that.”

“Hm. If you say so.” Rosie has a piercing on the side of her nose and a whole bunch of freckles. Five wonders what she sees when she looks at him. “But are you okay, kid?”

Five shrugs. He’s been in much worse scrapes physically, but mentally? He’s the furthest someone can possibly be from okay. “I’ll live,” he says, pasting on a halfhearted smile, but then he thinks about what he just said, and he wonders if it’s true.

Vanya thanks Rosie, brushing her hair back with the hand that isn’t on Five’s shoulder.

“Don’t mention it,” Rosie says. “I’ll give you both coffee on the house next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vanya replies. “Yeah, alright. Thank you,” she says again.

When they get to the Academy, Grace confirms that Vanya was right in her observation. Five wonders if Grace had missed him when he’d been gone. ~~If she’d miss him if he were gone again.~~ Five gets some bandages, but it’s honestly one of the least painful injuries he’s ever sustained.

Klaus is thrilled they’ve come by, if not thrilled about the circumstances. “Fate works in mysterious ways. Or _she_ does, maybe, but she sucks, so.” He rolls his eyes. “Funny thing is, I was going to invite you over anyways, because I…” he takes a deep breath, savoring the moment. “I can conjure Dave now. And I’d love for you to meet him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this type of ocd was one of the worst things I've ever dealt with personally in terms of my mental health. I'm currently worlds better than I used to be, but it comes back around every now and then, when I feel really unhappy or out of control over things that are happening in my life, and, yeah, I still gotta work through it with my new therapist.
> 
> If any of you deal with intrusive suicidal thoughts like these or any kind of suicidal thoughts in general, please please tell someone about it and try to seek help. You, like Five, _are_ worthy of love and life and recovery.


	5. not an update

Hey, so I absolutely hate to do this, but I'm going to have to put this fic on a hiatus.

In fact, I'm thinking I should go on something of a fandom break for a bit. I've been kinda neglecting my personal writing projects (including stuff that I legit want to publish someday), as well as neglecting my personal life just a little.

It's been truly great to be in a fandom again for the first time in years, and I still love TUA with all my heart, but I just really need to take some time for myself and get into new things, meet new people irl, and dedicate the majority of my time to my uh. sudden desire to change my Whole Thing and (try to) go to an art college lmao.

This show's still my fuckin favorite thing–– it's one of those special works of art that came into my life right when I needed it. 

God, I still have so many fic ideas for this fandom, I wanna do them ALL, but I do not. have. the. time! 

I'll still be on my [ tumblr](https://swaglorde.tumblr.com) when I can, and when season 2 comes out, you'd BETTER believe I'm gonna scream about all the new content. I'll try to come back and finish this fic someday soonish.

But for now? I have a lot on my plate and I'm gonna have to do what's right for me in the long run. I hope y'all understand and I'm sorry this was a personal ramble and the opposite of an update.

Thank you for all the views and kudos and comments!!!


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